


Withdrawal

by callmechristinae



Series: Livejournal Migration [13]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-26
Updated: 2006-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmechristinae/pseuds/callmechristinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hell of withdrawal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Withdrawal

A soft sigh fills the quiet room. I hadn’t even realized I had made the noise; I was completely absorbed by the man bundled up in my arms. He’s sleeping soundly, thankfully not the trembling insomniac that he has been so often recently. The moonlight’s filtering in through our window, casting the room in a strange eerie blue glow. Hopefully we’d get at least a few more hours of peace. The loft is just about silent, but I can hear a soft snoring from the other room. We only have one remaining roommate now that Collins has left for MIT. Maybe if he had realized what was going on, he wouldn’t have left. I wish he hadn’t left so I wouldn’t have to do this all on my own. I’m not good at this kind of stuff.  
  
Everything had been so complicated lately. I should have known better though. I knew he had been using. How could I not? We’ve lived together for the past few years. Others came and left, but we were the two constant fixtures in the loft. How many times had I seen him stumble in, pupils dilated and a strange grin on his face? How many times had I just pretended that he was just going out for a cup of coffee when he shoved some bills in his pocket and rushed out to meet his dealer? How many times had I pretended he locked himself in his room to get some work down when he was really shooting up? Far too many times to count.  
  
But, I had done nothing. Of course, I never did anything. I’m just the lazy ass “artist” who hasn’t done anything to contribute to the world or the rent. I just sit on the couch most days, waiting for a burst of inspiration to strike. Hell, I’d take a burst of inspiration for even a damn watercolor painting about now. I’m a pathetic lazy excuse for a Bohemian, and for a friend. It is  _my_  duty to help him. Collins is usually busy somewhere for a teaching gig, and Benny’s hardly ever around anymore. I’m the one who’s here. He had been so nice to me ever since we met, more than just friends. But even just plain friends are supposed to look out for each other, and how did I pay him back? I waited so long to do something that now he’s trapped in this hellish withdrawal.  
  
The nights have been the worst, when there are no distractions for the pain. I just sit here holding him. He’s lost so much weight recently and feels so small in my arms. The nights where he just trembles and complains of the stomach cramps are the good nights, but those are rare. I’m constantly wiping the sweat out of his eyes, and those dilated pupils full of fear are always staring back at me. He’s not vomiting as much anymore, but, then again, he hasn’t been eating anything either. And then there were the “episodes.”   
  
All of the sudden, without warning, he’ll just panic. He’ll start squirming, trying to escape the arms he had found comforting moments before. “Please, just one more hit, then I’ll stop. I promise, just one more, one more time,” he’ll beg frantically, pulling at my arms. He’ll scream and yell, curse me out, plead with me, ask why I won’t let him stop the pain. The episodes usually pass quickly, leaving him tired and crying. That’s the worst part. I can easily restrain him in his weakened state, but I’ve never been very good at comforting. I’ve never really had to. I try desperately to remember what my mother would do when I was growing up. I stroke his soft blonde hair, whisper soothing words into his ear, press gentle kisses to his forehead, but that does nothing to make the pain go away. During his lucid moments though, he tells me that it helps. He clings to me, begging me not to leave him alone.  
  
The sun is beginning to rise, and the room is beginning to fill with a soft glow. I can feel him stirring in my arms, much earlier than I’d like. His eyes flutter open as he takes in the room around him. Everything is calm and quiet for a moment. For a minute, I can pretend that we won’t go through this hell again tonight.  
  
He shifts in my arms, turning to face me. He smiles weakly before his head drops down again. I straighten up, tucking his head under my chin as I rub his back.  
  
“Thanks,” he rasps out. I smile ruefully. He deserves so much more than I could ever give him. He never seems to think so. For some reason, he thinks I’m the best friend he could ever have.  
  
“For what?” I reply. He’s starting to shake again.  
  
“For…for ev…evry…everything,” he stutters out, clenching his hand in my shirt. I pull our few light blankets tightly around us, cradling his body in mine. Our legs are tangled together to the point I can’t tell which are mine underneath the thin layers fabrics on us.  
  
“You’d do the same for me,” I respond, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. With every fiber of my being, I know he’d do anything for me.  
  
“Tell you what. If…if you ever need…need someone to…to he…help with get…get…getting off smack…I’ll be right here,” he stammers.  
  
I smile gently, clutching him tighter against me as the trembling intensifies. Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, I whisper in his ear, “Thanks Mark.”  
  
I can feel him smile before his face contorts in pain. He groans, clinging to me more tightly. I continue to hold him, whispering into his ear how proud I am of him and how it will all be over soon. The drugs may have a strong hold on him and it might take awhile, but we’ll get these drugs out of our lives forever, together.


End file.
